swim

Hidden Weeds

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

with this sorrow comes the sorrow
of every loss I ever had
it’s a pool of hidden depths
full of hidden weeds, obscured

is this the same for those occasions
when I’m glad? do i recall a well of joy?
gladness seems to stand alone
no predictions and no source

I know too well the ebb and flow
joy transcends all of itself
that moment like a rising wave
that bubbles up with light and air

today I cannot turn the tide
I sleep the sleep of constant loss
I’m sick with sad complexities
and all the tears I ever cried

if love were simple, as I think,
this stream would never lead
another sorry sigh away
but would swim me back again

At the Crossing

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

something has fallen in the river
it must have been some frantic release
the river bed is all whipped up
and the river looks like mud

some creature that was angry and scared
and doesn’t know how to swim has been here
thrashing about and making a stir
you can’t catch fish that way

falling in from the bank instead of staying there
in a far safer place, in the dry
if you can’t swim you should never jump in
unless you have learned how to float

no point throwing another rope now
the creature is gone

my father

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

it was not until i found myself swimming alone

that i realised he was my rock

taken for granted always there

though i had watched the life source dim

with regret and compassion

 

there is no other rock out there

in the endless sea

now i see why he tried to teach me

to float to dry land, each time i swam off

flailing my arms about